Out of the Ordinary
by TheSilentPen
Summary: "Have you seen McKinley's new Drum Major?" Tragedy takes McKinley High's beloved Drum Major. The Band finds a replacement in Carmel High transfer Rachel Berry. Cheerleading Captain Quinn Fabray finds herself drawn to Rachel as the caste system shifts.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee or any of its characters, nor do I own the fantastic field show 'Fantasmic.'

**A/N:** My first story on this site 'That Which I Have Loved' was a messy, second-person, WIP that featured one of my greatest loves: Band. I've decided to revamp the story considerably, and this is the end result.

I KNOW that I haven't finished _Just A Kiss_ yet, but I wanted to put this out there to replace _That Which I Have Loved_.

Tell me what you think of this starting chapter. For those of you non-bandies, I have included a short little explanation of everything at the end :)

You don't have to be in band to appreciate this :)

* * *

><p><strong>Out Of The Ordinary<strong>

TheSilentPen

* * *

><p>Prologue: The New Drum Major<p>

* * *

><p>Band could hardly be considered the 'top tier' elective at McKinley High School, especially Marching Band.<p>

The Jazz Band gained notoriety through their participation in the infamous loser attraction of the New Directions Glee Club, who had made it (once, many, many years ago) to Nationals in Los Angeles, California and brought home a bright, gold trophy to be hidden amongst a plethora of Winterguard and Cheerleading awards.

The award winning Winterguard and Cheer teams, led to victory by their hard-as-nails Coach, Sue Sylvester, had taken National Championship after National Championship. Their shows were known for their dramatic, otherworldly flair.

Still, between the sister programs, the Cheerios led the school's Elite. A well-defined line had been drawn between 'losers' and 'winners,' and the Winterguard fell short because of their sad connections with McKinley's rather drab Marching Band.

There had been a golden age of marching once upon a time. A time known only to those far from Lima, Ohio, sitting with their families and watching old, grainy cassette tapes wistfully.

The band director, Mr. Vanguard, worked in conjunction with Sue to put out breathtaking shows. There'd been upside down drumming, the stabbing of Drum Majors with Sabres, and a superior combination of amazing footwork and fantastic show music.

McKinley bested its rival, Carmel, at every turn.

It'd been a golden age of band.

But after Mr. Vanguard's sudden departure to direct a local Drum and Bugle Corps., the new Director, Mr. Ryerson, neglected the proud Triton tradition.

The Marching Titans became a shadow of their former glory, reduced to shabby uniforms, dented instruments, and terribly penned drill.

Despite Sue's greatest efforts, the Golden Age of band was lost.

McKinley High School's band legacy fell to chaos and Carmel rose to prominence, erasing all traces of McKinley's legacy.

Several years later, after Mr. Ryerson had been dismissed for inappropriate student-teacher relations, Will Schuester took up the mantle of Band Director.

Under his leadership, the Marching Band rose through the ranks and regained a bit of its former glory. The Tritons, garbed in dark reds and blacks, stormed the local chapter of competition and gave an impressive first showing.

Their Drum Major, Sophomore Mike Chang, led the band to victory numerous times. He became well-loved amidst the band for his kindness and hard work ethic.

The Titans geared up for another year, Mike once more at the podium, ready to overtake Carmel's band. Sue and Will joined forces to create the most elaborate show since Mr. Vanguard's sudden absence.

Tragedy, however, struck swift and heavy at the soul of the band.

A month before school started, Mike Chang, conducting the first run through of the Field Show, fell from the podium, dead.

The news spread quickly through the little town of Lima, Ohio. Murmurs of 'heart arrhythmia,' and 'cardiac failure' fell from the lips of the Medical Examiner and floated to every home and into the mouths of each teenager.

The Marching Band was left without a Drum Major. All promise faded away.

Members of the band grew disheartened. Mike had not only been their leader, but their friend and the very core of the Titans' Marching band.

They could not compete without a Drum Major. None of the Section Captains could possibly step up to fill the empty podium, as they lacked the proper confidence and training to do so.

All hope seemed lost.

Mr. Schue, desperate, turned to Carmel High School, with its well-trained musicians and strong performance, for a possible candidate. Many of the students had conducting prowess and filled competitive positions within Drum Corps. International's most coveted positions.

One student, a Junior in the program, stepped forward to fill Mike Chang's position.

The news spread through the ranks of the Winterguard and Cheerios like wildfire. The band members revolted against the idea.

They wouldn't dishonor Mike's memory by _replacing_ him with the enemy.

After several weeks, the clamor faded into a quiet hum of curiosity and confusion.

Who would _replace_ Mike Chang?

Who would become the new Drum Major?

* * *

><p>"Sloppy, whiner babies!" The static crackle of Coach Sylvester's megaphone sounded through McKinley's sizeable football field. "Run faster!"<p>

Cicadas crackled in the uncharacteristically intense summer heat. Rays of unfiltered sunlight fell violently upon the vibrant green grass that lay unsheltered by the characteristic cloud cover of mid-August.

Quinn felt the tickle of sweat falling down her brow as she threw her weight forward, breathing heavily as she came to a halt after her fifth and final 'warm down' lap of the day.

Beside her, her best friend, Santana Lopez, seemed in an equal state of pain, grasping at her cramping stomach and swearing violently in a broken mixture of Spanish and English expletives.

The rest of the squad panted feverishly across the track, still on its fourth lap.

Sue Sylvester, unfazed in her red Adidas track suit, yelled at the oncoming crowd of sweating, panting girls as the trucked by. "You think this is hard? Try digging your way out of Chinese prison with a plastic spork, _that's_ hard!"

"If she tells us to hurry up one more damn time," Santana gasped, tugging at her sweat-soaked, gray Cheer T-shirt, "I'll be stabbing _her_ with a plastic spo-."

"You don't want to finish that sentence, Lopez," Sue interjected. "Say another word and you won't be able to order at any Breadsticks in a five mile radius for the next two years of your pathetic life."

Santana's jaw snapped shut.

"Fabray, Lopez, in the stands!" Sue snapped. She lifted the megaphone to her lips once more. "Cheerios, finish your laps _now_ before I have the whole of the instrumental department trample you to bits with their shiny make out partners!"

She turned toward the entrance to the pitch. "Guard, Schue's Elves, get your asses out here and set your positions! We're doing a run through of the show!"

Quinn wheezed as she pulled her water bottle from her Cheerios bag, pouring a generous helping of ice water over her face.

'Detox' camp had never been Quinn's favorite part of Cheerios, especially since taking the mantle of Team Captain her sophomore year.

She could go without the constant yelling, the endless amount of unnecessary exercise, cleansing, and the desire to be thinner and _better_. She could do without the cruel whispers of the squad, without the backstabbing girls, and without the added weight to be especially perfect on her shoulders.

But Quinn endured it. _Had_ endured it since her mother first enrolled her in Cheerleading in sixth grade.

The Fabray family was well-known throughout the whole of Lima as one of its most prosperous, generous families. Russell Fabray was an influential businessman with ties to the venerable banking corporation. Judy, his wife, presided over a book club and was daughter to the former Mayor of the town.

Their eldest daughter, Frannie, graduated at the top of McKinley's class with honors, attended Brown, where she met her husband, Scott, and settled down near home.

Despite Frannie's 'success' in life, her younger sister, Quinn, was the apple of her Father's eye.

She'd been pressed to be 'perfect' and to aim to please those around her. To attract a promising husband, to become the envy of every person in Lima.

So far, she'd succeeded.

Quinn was beautiful, pale, and thin. Boys desired her madly, for her looks and for her popularity. Girls wanted to _be_ her, to have the best boys drooling after them, to hold popularity in the palm of their hand.

To control who sank or swam.

Santana provided the might, Brittany (the captain of the school's Guard team) provided the sweets.

And Quinn?

Quinn represented the perfect balance of both of her best friends, with a large dosage to cleverness to supplement it all.

Quinn played devil's advocate toward the lower half of the school. She incited slushies, sweetly destroyed her competition, and orchestrated the downfall of anyone who might get in the way of her wants.

To others (namely her boyfriend, Finn), she wore the face of an angel and made all the right connections.

She _hated_ it.

She stared blankly out into the field, blinking out the metallic shine of their instruments and the inhumane whiteness of McKinely High's Marching band's shirts as each of the members fell into shape on the field.

"Britt Britt says they might have a shot this year," Santana said lowly beside Quinn, dark eyes falling upon the lithe, muscular figure of her girlfriend. "The band's got the first quarter set and Sylvester's been drilling the crap of them."

"How are they doing without Mike?" Quinn inquired, staring at the empty podium.

She hadn't been _well_-acquainted with Mike Chang, but she'd seen him around campus. He'd been a smiling, light-hearted force. He'd been kind to her during every brief interaction.

If he hadn't been taken, Quinn mused, she might have dated him herself.

"The new Drum Major's supposedly a real enigma," Santana murmured. She sunk down a healthy half of a second bottle of water. "But we'll see in a moment, hmm?"

Quinn could see Mr. Schue, clad in a torn t-shirt and shorts, walking out to the pitch.

Beside him walked someone Quinn had never seen before.

A girl, sixteen or seventeen, strode confidently beside him, murmuring in a soft, melodic crawl. She was petite, a good head shorter than Quinn, with heavily tanned skin stretched taut over muscular arms and uncharacteristically _long_ legs.

Soft brown locks tumbled down a delicate neck where a gold chain shimmered in the intense sunlight. A prominent nose stood fixed to the center of exotic looking features (she looked… Jewish), large but oddly suited to the girl's face.

Sharp, brown eyes, rimmed about the irises in coal black, swimming with small shards of deep red, regarded the band serenely.

Coach Sylvester strode down the bleachers evenly, falling into conversation with the teenager and Mr. Schue. The girl gave several quick nods as she adjusted the blindingly white gloves on her hands. A long, pine colored baton peeked out between her fingers.

The girl strode forward, stepping up the podium, nodding toward the pit at her feet, folding her arms.

"Holy shit," Santana murmured disbelievingly. "It's a _girl_."

Quinn wrestled down the urge to point out the _obviousness_ of the situation, but remained silent, engrossed in the Drum Major's small figure.

"Band, Attention!" A melodious, stern voice floated across the pitch from the girl's lips.

"Ti-tans!" Shining instruments were hefted to lips as the band stood stone still, waiting.

The girl pivoted on her heel, turning to face the squad, snapping a starch salute.

Her sharp eyes connected with Quinn's, sending the air in the Cheerleader's lungs fleeing from her chest. They smoldered and bore into her for a split moment, tearing away every layer of defense, bearing Quinn's soul.

But just as quickly as the connection was forged, it was gone, and the Drum Major turned back to the band, lifting her baton and holding it at the ready.

The first fall of the baton brought forth a blaring call from the Trumpets, sending Quinn reeling back in surprise. The horns fell below the bellowing call of the low brass and the silvery voices of the flutes.

The pit took over as the instruments gathered in strength.

As the music rose and fell, the band moved, spiraling and forming designs across the whole of the field. The Colorguard wove its way between, jumping, leaping, and managing the billowing bright red of the flags with practiced ease.

The Drum Major conducted each note, swiping the baton through the air, motioning toward each section as it rose above the previous voicing. Sweat ran from her hairline as she coaxed power from the Trumpets, pulling the soloist, Noah Puckerman, forth as the rest of the band detached from him in a complex wave.

His eyes burned into Rachel's as he operated the valves of the instrument in black gloved hands. The Trumpet sounded forth, blaring, then falling as the band swept him away once more to join with the rest of the ensemble.

Quinn watched the band move in fluid lines, breaking apart, joining, and swelling with each crescendo and change.

The music was familiar. Brought memories of times spent in theme parks and smiling vacations to Disney World. She could make out the spark of the fireworks in her mind's eye and see the fog rising forth from the water.

The music ended with a straight snap, the band flicking down its instruments, the Guard frozen in place.

The Drum Major stood, panting, hands still held aloft, eyes blazing with the intensity of the music still echoing in the air. The cicadas chirruped once more as the final note faded from existence.

Her hands fell sharply, taking the band's instruments with it.

"My God," Santana murmured, blinking. "That was… pretty decent."

"Yeah," Quinn said, eyes locked firmly upon the small figure before her.

The Drum Major descended the podium slowly as Sue took up her megaphone, breaking the magic of the moment as she shouted into it.

"That was SLOPPY!" her voice rang out, making the frozen guard wince in disappointment. Brittany's head shook. "You all need to haul ass to your markers quicker. William's hair gel was quicker than you sloppy idiots!" Sue sent an angry glare toward a well-coifed boy center-field. "Anderson, don't think I didn't see your oily, gelled hands fumble that flag!"

'Anderson' winced, shoulders falling.

"William," Coach Sylvester addressed the Director. "Your band was mediocre at best. The crescendos weren't dramatic enough and their feet were _dirty_. And your Drum Major…"

The Drum Major remained impassive as Sue's ferocious gaze turned upon her. "Your Drum Major is a second-rate hack who cannot conduct worth a crap."

The Coach threw her megaphone down, marching off the field as the rest of the band wilted, groaning disappointedly.

They reset their position as the Drum Major took her place once more on the podium, speaking to them in low, soft tones.

Quinn sat, as mesmerized as the rest of the squad, unable to erase the image of coal rimmed chocolate irises or mitigate the fresh shivers running down the length of her spine.

* * *

><p>Band Terms<p>

Drill: The 'choreography' for the band. Comes on sheets, where each band member is assigned a number and is told to move x amount.

Drum Major: The leader of the band. In charge of music interpretation, conducting, and dolling out punishment.

Sections: The separate instrumental groups, each headed by a **Section Captain**, or the best, most responsible individual in the group.

Guard: A group of individuals that work in tandem to create the show with the band. Their job is to heighten the visuals and effect of the music. They often use props to aid in this.

The show the Titans are playing **will be posted on my profile**. They are only playing the opening song so far. You'll recognize it as 'Fantasmic' from the splendid disney fireworks show.

Link will also **be on my tumblr, link on my profile.**

**Please review **:)


End file.
